Tough times come in like storms, and sometimes you just can’t see the end to the rain and winds that are beating you down. I know…I’ve had my share of stormy weather.

It sometimes seems that in the midst of a storm, everyone and everything is against us. We even question God’s purpose for our sufferings. Why do we have to endure this? When will the sun come out? Why is it, everyone else seems to be sailing in bright blue skies and the dark cloud seems to linger over my head?

There are many people who look at their trials and feel sorry for themselves. They waste their energy wishing for another life. A life filled with cloudless skies. This thinking can make a person bitter and that bitterness will consume a life. Joy and gratitude have a hard time penetrating a bitter, crusty soul.

Is it possible then, to find a reason to celebrate during the stormy times? I don’t mean party hats and cake celebration … well, maybe just the cake part. But can we really be thankful in the middle of our problems? I have discovered the answer is YES! In 1Thesalonians 5:18, Paul tells us to “…give thanks IN all circumstances..” He is not saying to give thanks FOR the circumstances, but IN the midst of our trials.

We have all heard the saying, “Hindsight is 20-20.” It is amazing to look back and see the growth you experienced during your darkest hours. It is in this darkness that we reach a point where change is possible and our spirit becomes so pliable that it can transform and mold us into a stronger, more perseverant individual…if we allow it.

I knew a woman named Sue, who had the perfect upbringing (by my standards anyway). Her mom was always home for her and her dad was there to affirm her and give her unconditional love. Sue got excellent grades all through school, had impeccable teeth, played the piano and always wore matching bra and panty sets (The things women will share!).

She married a wonderful man and now has two model children who would never throw tantrums in the grocery store or start fires in their basement (that’s a story for another time).

Don’t you feel sorry for her? I do.
I worked with Sue for three years and although she breezed through the interview process, her job became stressful and anything but routine. This was very different for her. Nothing was scheduled or orderly. Chaos was the norm.

Whenever Sue was faced with a difficult task or found herself in the middle of a problem, she would make excuses; blame everyone else and experience great levels of anxiety. She eventually caved under the pressure and quit.

Sue didn’t have the coping mechanisms or survival instincts to handle things that were not routine. These were some of the toughest times in her entire life!

I look at my life and all the things I have had to endure, and suddenly I feel like Wonderwoman! I was raised by a single parent. I attended 13 different schools by the time I graduated high school, moving just when I started forming any real friendships.

I got married right out of high school and then divorced three years later when my husband decided he wanted to “play” and have the fun that his friends were all experiencing. He walked out on all responsibilities and I raised two boys on a pitiful salary, sometimes working two jobs to make ends meet.

I did meet and marry Mr. Romance a few years later, but the reprieve was short-lived and together we soon faced more storms.

My oldest son began to experience emotional and behavioral problems (no surprise there) due to the abandonment of his father, and my other son narrowly escaped being gunned down by his classmates at Columbine High School, only to struggle for the next four years with issues stemming from that event.

I could go on and on listing the storms that I have weathered, but my point is this: If it were not for each and every one of these storms, I would not be the strong woman I am today. Do I sometimes wish I had the cushy upbringing Sue had? You bet. But I also know that our storms prepare us for greater things, and I am just beginning to reap those rewards.

I guess it is a matter of perspective. Some call it “bad luck” and others call it “training for a purpose not yet revealed.” I have used each of my experiences to relate to someone else going through a similar situation. I have a level of compassion for people struggling in marriages or with children that only comes from experiencing my own storms.

For my job, I travel alone a lot, as I speak to groups around the globe. While this might send some people over the edge, I have learned to enjoy the adventures. I have had flights canceled in the wee hours of the night and had to sleep on airport benches. I have missed flights, and lost airline tickets. I once found myself lost in the cornfields of Minnesota at 1:00 AM trying to find the hotel but every trip was a fun adventure of sorts and I know I can do anything and sometimes enjoy the journey.

On one of my trips to Arizona, I discovered something that helped me see trials and tribulations in a whole new light. I had meetings Monday and Tuesday in Tucson before heading to Phoenix for meetings Thursday and Friday. So I decided to spend Wednesday sightseeing.

I saw the beautiful Saguaro National Park where the awesome cacti stand like giant people with their hands reaching for heaven, and then I took a tour at Biosphere2, which is just outside of Tucson. (PS- Biosphere 1 would be Earth)

If you are not familiar with the Biosphere2, it is a giant glass dome (91 feet high and spans over three acres) that was constructed in the late 1980s to see if people could sustain themselves in a sealed environment. It was an experiment that, if successful, could be recreated on the space station, Mars or other planets (well, that was their goal).

The plants and trees inside the dome were very interesting. They grew wheat for flour and all their own vegetables, but I was most amazed to learn that the scientists were only able to grow enough coffee beans to have a half-cup of coffee every two weeks!

YIKES, let me out. (Couldn’t they just put a Starbucks inside?)

My tour guide was explaining why some of the trees, one in particular, (the acacia tree) were so weak and frail. The tree we stood in front of was very skinny, but it reached the top of the dome and then the branches curled and several had snapped off and were lying at the base. They looked very odd and even sickly.

The guide explained that the scientists simulated breezes, rain, and even snow, but they could not simulate strong winds.

Without strong gusts of wind, these trees never developed the strengthening fibers they would have, had they grown outside.

You see, the wind blows against the trees, bending them almost to the breaking point, but through this, the strengthening fibers are developed and they allow the trees to flex and grow thick trunks. Just like us…the trees need to experience tough times to grow strong!

It was a revelation to me. As the guide continued with the tour, I was having a major breakthrough in thinking. I would no longer complain about my “winds” or stormy weather. These storms are building my fibers.

The Bible also tells us that our thorns are there for a reason. In 2 Corinthians, Paul mentions a thorn that God gave him in his flesh (a trial of some sort) and the strength he drew from it. He says, “I will delight in weaknesses, insults, in hardships, in persecutions, and in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am made strong.”

What are the “winds” you are facing? What storms are you enduring? Stand strong and give thanks. Your trunk is getting thicker!

~Gina

]]>https://ginaunplugged.com/2018/09/03/its-the-winds-that-make-us-strong/feed/0Acacia tree strong in stormsginaunpluggedwinds make us strong life stormslife storms how to copeJOURNALShttps://ginaunplugged.com/2018/05/16/journals/
https://ginaunplugged.com/2018/05/16/journals/#commentsWed, 16 May 2018 15:07:32 +0000http://ginaunplugged.com/?p=327Continue Reading →]]>

I love journals. I have kind of an unhealthy relationship with them. I buy lots of them. Kind of like cards. I have a beautiful brown weathered and oh-so-soft leather-bound journal. I have some with inspirational covers, and some with whimsical images or simply beautiful covers. But what they all share in common is they usually sit on my bookshelf, either completely empty or with one or two pages written on.

I fear TLC channel will approach me soon for a new series, Journal Hoarders! Currently, I am working through “The Five-Minute Journal” and have already made it to page 52 (mostly because the first 46 pages are “how to use the journal”).

I think I love the idea of blank space since I have so little of it in my life. Perhaps just knowing there is space within the beautiful covers brings me comfort. Where else in our lives can we just have space to create, space to pour out our thoughts and ideas, or space to just stare into… blankly.

There are moments of hesitation each time I open a journal. What should I write? What is worthy of taking up this sacred space? Do I want someone, someday to know this? My story will be like a puzzle. People will have to read the first 3 pages in 789 different journals to discover what I was really thinking.

When inspiration does strike and I take pen to a sacred page, I feel the words come from my fingertips like hot syrup, pouring onto a stack of pancakes. If my phone doesn’t buzz and the wind chimes outside my window are tinkling just so, I can keep the flow going for at least 10 minutes. But then my mind starts pulling me back to what I should be doing. There are clients waiting for a reply from me on a Facebook ad draft, or there are team members needing me to help them with a LinkedIn strategy. Oh, how I hate technology some days.

Why can’t we go back to pen and paper? Times when technology didn’t interrupt us. Times when journals got filled. Oh sure, I know there are people who can still accomplish this today while their phone is in another room and their laptop is powered off. (Wait…do people power their computers completely off?) But I’m talking about those simpler times, when goats were outside, in cute sweaters, and a pot of oatmeal was simmering on the stovetop with a wooden spoon in it, and a journal had pages and pages of deep thoughts about… journals. Those times.

So perhaps this is my journal. Right here on this blog, that I half-started a few years ago and contribute to when the mood strikes. Or the other blog that I write on more regularly about digital marketing–SocialKNX, and now on The Village Workspace blog as well. These are today’s journals and they never have blank space.

Maybe the adorable llama journal, pictured above, will never get a word written in it and it just might continue to sit here filled with hundreds of blank pages. Lots and lots of opportunity.

Perhaps I will look at it each morning for a few days and then slide it onto the shelf next to my favorite soft leather journal. If I do, I know it will bring a smile to my face when I see it, because it is filled with lots of blank space.

Are you a journaler? I’d love to hear from you. Let’s chat here in the comments or connect with me on any social channel @GinaSchreck

]]>https://ginaunplugged.com/2018/05/16/journals/feed/2Journal blog image llamasginaunpluggedJournals, entrepreneurjournaling for entrepreneursJournaling, entrepreneurentrepreneurs journal Sometimes You Just Have to Sit Awhile: Naps, Puppies and Hip Surgeryhttps://ginaunplugged.com/2016/12/19/sometimes-you-just-have-to-sit-awhile-naps-puppies-and-hip-surgery/
https://ginaunplugged.com/2016/12/19/sometimes-you-just-have-to-sit-awhile-naps-puppies-and-hip-surgery/#commentsMon, 19 Dec 2016 21:08:01 +0000http://ginaunplugged.com/?p=321Continue Reading →]]>13 days ago I had a hip-replacement surgery, which I am choosing to call my first bionic surgery. It has nothing to do with aging or arthritis, but instead the assimilation of the super-robot body I will have in a few years. I had heard that today’s hip surgeries were quite remarkable and the recovery was only a few weeks.My surgeon said I didn’t even have to spend the night, unless I was experiencing extreme pain, in which case, I could stay one night.

The competitive side of me was determined to be out of that surgery center in a matter of hours. I wanted the staff to remark on how amazing I was to be walking so soon and so effortlessly. I wanted my family to stand in awe of my powers to heal and do what no mere mortal had done before. They thought they would have to wait on me hand and hip, so I wanted to show them I could not only take care of myself but our two dogs and one-week-old puppy we decided to get just before I went into surgery as well. I would be the best at this hip surgery recovery!

8 days into my recovery I became very frustrated that I still needed to sit in a comfy recliner chair most of the day because my regular desk chair started hurting my hip and leg. I was frustrated because sitting in the comfy chair made me fall asleep too easily.I was frustrated that when I got up I had to stand and stabilize for about 10 seconds before I take my first step. How am I supposed to be the best at this when I was still having to stay cooped up in the house? I went stir crazy sitting in the house and chair most of the day. I thought I’d be in a super productive mode, planning for our launch of DIY.social in 2017 and creating content to load into the site. I should be writing every day, but as soon as I would start, I’d fall asleep. I have no motivation. No focus. This is getting ridiculous.

Have you ever had times in your life when you felt as if everything was stalled? The plans that you had are not moving at the pace you wanted or expected them to? It’s frustrating. You’re not sure if it’s something you can control or if you just need to scrap them and do something else. Perhaps that was a bit drastic. Could it be that you have been working so hard and pushing yourself to that point of mental and physical exhaustion?

Two weeks after my surgery, what I’ve learned is that sometimes it’s just good to make yourself sit awhile, pet puppies, and take naps whenever you feel tired. It’s ok to be unproductive for a period of time and perhaps that helps to bring more focus and greater productivity after the time of rest is complete. Sure we know that extra rest is important to heal a body, but perhaps a little extra rest can heal a tired mind as well.

]]>https://ginaunplugged.com/2016/12/19/sometimes-you-just-have-to-sit-awhile-naps-puppies-and-hip-surgery/feed/2img_2591ginaunpluggedHip Replacement Surgeryimg_5872img_6013I Need An Umbrella Man Dayhttps://ginaunplugged.com/2016/11/27/i-need-an-umbrella-man-day/
https://ginaunplugged.com/2016/11/27/i-need-an-umbrella-man-day/#respondMon, 28 Nov 2016 05:06:57 +0000http://ginaunplugged.wordpress.com/?p=259Continue Reading →]]>I grew up in Northern California just 45-minutes from Santa Cruz. The beach with its old-fashioned boardwalk was a favorite weekend trip, but as an adult, I discovered downtown Santa Cruz, a cool blend of hippie lifestyle and boho chic shops and restaurants.

Several years ago we spent the afternoon at the beach and then we decided to wander the streets downtown Santa Cruz, to find a place for dinner. As we were browsing the shops and enjoying a perfect evening something caught my eye from down the block. I could see a man holding an umbrella (although it wasn’t raining) but there was something odd about the way he was moving.

This man was taking small steps, literally 6-12-inch steps at most, as he smiled and watched people pass him. I was the only one intrigued since my family had spotted a great pasta and pizza spot across the street and they wanted to head over. I told them I would meet them there, that I first had to see what this man was doing.

As I approached this umbrella man, I assumed he was “a few seashells short of a beach party.” He had on pink pants, a bright Hawaiian print shirt, and a pink baseball cap as he held his large floral umbrella. It was no longer sunny enough to need an umbrella for shade, and it was definitely not raining. I stood mesmerized as he approached me. We locked eyes and I smiled at him. He stopped and said hello.

I asked his name and then asked, “Why do you walk so slowly?” “Do I?” he replied, “Or are you just moving too fast? Maybe I just don’t want to miss anything.” WOAH! That was DEEP! Perhaps he was right. Maybe I AM moving too fast. Maybe I am missing so much.

WOAH! That was DEEP! Perhaps he was right. Maybe I AM moving too fast. Maybe I am missing so much. I was sad that I didn’t have a camera with me to snap a photo with him to remind me of this lesson for years to come.

I went in and told my family about Robert, the umbrella man, and I told them we all needed to start having “umbrella man days” when we feel rushed or stressed. For awhile, I did just that. I would determine the day to be an “Umbrella Man Day,” and I would choose the longer line at the grocery stores to just enjoy people watching. I would drive slower on the freeway and make an effort to not say, “Hurry up.”

I created a coloring book about 7 years ago and even had a section dedicated to the Umbrella Man, but of course, I have since slipped back into my crazed and harried ways. I find myself driving fast even when I’m not late. I pack my days so tightly that I end up feeling overwhelmed and exhausted.

Last week, my sister sent me a text letting me know she saw Robert, the Umbrella Man. She asked if she could get a picture with him so she could send it to me. It was a sign for me to slow down this holiday season. Stop rushing through each day and look at all that is going on around.

Why don’t you join me this Holiday season, in having a few Umbrella Man days.

I remove each item, assessing its value. Does it get tossed into the trash or can someone else use it? How do you begin to sort through a house filled with stuff? Closet by closet, cabinets and drawers. Some of it just half empty bottles of soap or mouthwash and then there are all of these coffee cups. Where did they all come from? I am the judge sitting here deciding the fate of so many memories and mementos. Which items will make the cut to come with us as we start the next chapter of our lives?

Some decisions are simple. The salad spinner, still in the box…give away. The two lumpy bowls made in ceramics class by the kids…coming with us. Books that I will never read, but had every intention of doing so…give away. The bobble-head Donald Trump doll that will make the absolute best white elephant gift, should I ever go to one of those parties …has to make the trip.

Just the process of packing and purging brings up so many emotions. Feelings of disgust as I discover twenty extension cords in the back of a closet. So many times I searched for one of these and ended up going and buying another one. Feelings of guilt and sadness as I find notes from my children telling me they are sorry for fighting or that they are grounding themselves for the rest of their lives for kicking a hole in the door. Could I have been more forgiving? I was a crazy stressed out parent at times. I will have to remind them of these. I take a photo of the notes and keep going. Sadness for knowing we will be further away from our beautiful kids and grandkids. Will we all still get together and wear our pilgrim and Indian hats on Thanksgiving? Will they forget what we look like? Thank goodness for Skype, Facebook and airplanes.

We are moving from a large house with 4 bedrooms, 2 offices, 5 bathrooms and way too many closets to stuff things inside, to a two bedroom apartment downtown Chicago. How can we fit our life into such a small place? We must make decisions, so many decisions. We have to sell one of the cars. People don’t drive everywhere in Chicago like they do in Roxborough Park. Do we give away the living room furniture or put it in storage. Perhaps we should just rent a giant storage unit that can hold every memory. That would make me sad, to think of the chairs and tables that have seen parties and family game nights, sitting in a dark cold storage unit. We need to get these pieces into someone else’s home where kids can do homework around them and families can watch movies on them. Someone will finally play that old piano. It will be happier.

Photo by Taylor Schreck-Stauffer

I keep going from excitement, knowing it is a new chapter in our lives and a time of new plans and new adventures, to tears, saying goodbye to so many plans and projects completed. It’s good for couples to keep planning; to keep looking toward the future with excitement and yet, I keep looking around and thinking of all the things I will miss. We planted so many trees, bushes and flowers here. We had patios and vistas put in to sit and look out over the Denver skyline from high atop our private cove of beautiful red rocks.

Is it the stuff? The things? The garden, the big fire pit the beautiful gold star painted on the ceiling of the dining room that I loved to look at each time I walked by? I always admired the boldness of having a giant gold star on the ceiling and yet there was one side that was slightly crooked, and I always said I would fix it. I loved late spring in Colorado. I’ll miss standing outside every morning in the garden watering the flowers, letting my mind just wander as the plants soaked. I was usually whistling a little too loud right below Bailey’s window. As soon as I would go inside a family of deer would usually mosey by and snap the tops off the freshly watered plants. I would run out and chase them off swearing I’d find the right kind of spray to keep them off my plants. I shall miss that battle. All those nights we would all sit bundled in blankets around the fire pit roasting marshmallows and Starburst candy until we felt sick. Is it just the memories?

We can take the memories, without even packing them into boxes. We can plant another garden on the rooftop, where I will not have to battle the deer and maybe we can bundle up and sit outside at night around a fire pit. I’m definitely going to paint a gold star on the ceiling in our new home.

Where can a girl find monkey bars in this town? I don’t mean the kind you pull up a barstool in and order exotic jungle juice, I mean the metal ladder you cross to develop upper body strength. I am about to do my second Rugged Maniac (mud race) in a few weeks and this is my biggest challenge… the monkey bars. I can’t do a single pull up and in the first Rugged Maniac, I could not cross the metal rings that carried you over the muddy water pit, and I fell after 2 rungs.

I turned to Google to see where all the monkey bars have gone so I could get some practice in. After doing a bit of research, I discovered that any parent of a child who has ever fallen off of monkey bars, had them removed and banned, calling them death traps for young children lacking the upper body strength to cross them. I’ll tell you why they lack the upper body strength… WE’RE RAISING WIMPS!

As a young girl in school, we (all of the female gym students) were told we could do “girl push-ups” as the boys all did “regular push-ups.” This suggested to all of the girls that we were not expected to ever do “regular push ups” since we had our very own version. All through high school, I can remember doing “girl push-ups.” It wasn’t until my 30’s that I experienced the humiliation and consequences of my wimpy training. When the kickboxing instructor said to drop and give him 20 push ups, I knew he meant 20 “girl push-ups,” but as I was on my knees, about to start showing my skills, I looked around and noticed every woman in that room pumping out GI Jane style push ups! They were not just “regular,” they were downright manly!

Perhaps this is where the whole concept of “running like a girl” or “throwing like a girl” came from. We were told by PE teachers that we weren’t strong enough to do “regular” exercises and therefore we named the sub-par versions, “girl-style.” I wonder if in today’s schools, they are still calling them “girl push-ups,” or if they are even having our children do them at all. After all, many schools have abandoned PE classes altogether. There is hope! This past summer, Mo’ne Davis, the 13-year old phenom playing little league baseball with the boys, showed us all what “throwing like a girl” really meant! This young athlete can also play basketball and I’m sure she “shoots like a girl!” I’d bet she isn’t doing “girl push-ups!” Advertisers like Always, have given us hope, and I hope more brands follow suit. Always created the “Like a Girl” campaign, which should be mandatory viewing for anyone teaching physical education today!

I think I need to call Michelle Obama and help start a movement to put back the tough fitness equipment in our schools and encourage more ad campaigns like the one Always has created! We need to stop raising wimpy kids and encourage boys AND girls to be strong and healthy.

The Captain and I drove around this afternoon in search of monkey bars at local schools and parks only to discover most schools have only small plastic slide equipment, a couple of basketball hoops and large slabs of cement…probably for lining up in straight lines, or other strenuous physical drills.

Fortunately, we found an older school, not too far away, that was still loaded with death-trap, strength-building, equipment. So come November 22, at the Rugged Maniac race in Phoenix, I am going to run like a girl and cross those stinkin’ monkey bars like a girl, who has been doing it all her life!

The week before the youngest Schrecklet went off to college we went to dinner at Little Ollies, one of our favorite Chinese restaurants in Cherry Creek. During dinner, the Schrecklet was telling me and my husband, The Captain (Kirk), about when she was here for homecoming and they all had “Buddha Buttons” after dinner. She tried to explain what a Buddha Button was. “It’s a small dried flower that when placed in your mouth makes you salivate, your mouth feels tingly and numb, and it will make you start to foam at the mouth. You then drink a shot glass of lemonade (or I’m sure any sweet or sour drink) for an explosion of craziness in your mouth.” Hmmm, I was intrigued. The Captain was not interested.

Buddha Buttons (aka-Toothache Plant or Buzz Balls)

While the Captain went to the restroom, the Schrecklet reminded me of our giant prairie dog story…

Traveling from our home in Denver to Wichita, Kansas to see Kirk’s parents, is a very long and boring drive. Eight to nine hours of straight highway driving. But somewhere about 10-20 miles east of the Kansas border you start seeing a series of signs reading “WORLD’S LARGEST PRAIRIE DOG” “PETTING ZOO” “COW WITH TWO HEADS” “RATTLESNAKES.” Like a freakshow from the 1920’s, I pictured pulling up and seeing a bearded lady selling tickets. Every time we passed by, the kids and I would always say we wanted to stop here to see the world’s largest prairie dog and the other freaky creatures. Of course, like most men, the Captain was on a mission to beat his last driving time on this same route, and he would convince us that these signs had been here on I-70 for over 50 years (actually since 1973) and there couldn’t possibly still be anything there, and we wouldn’t stop.

We’re stopping!

The summer of 2011, we made four trips to Kansas, as my mother-in-law was very ill. We flew twice and drove twice. On the last trip back from Kansas to Denver, I insisted, “We are stopping to see the stinkin’ world’s largest prairie dog!” If I had to hitchhike the rest of the way home because I was the only one stopping, so be it. In the car, now cheering, was Jacob, our 26-year old son, Taylor, our 20-year-old daughter, and Bailey, our 15-year-old daughter. Our oldest son, Danny was working in California and couldn’t make the trip. Looking like a scene from a Chevy Chase, Griswald Family Vacation movie, we pulled off the highway and onto a dirt road that lead to “Prairie Dog Town” (yes, with a prairie dog so big, it required it’s own town)!

Enter at your own risk

I will admit, that if my children need therapy later in life, it is from stopping at Prairie Dog Town on that trip. I still shudder thinking about the horrific sites we saw. There was a giant fenced yard of dirt and gravel. In the back, there were several small pens holding mutant animals, such as a three-legged coyote, a cow with six legs, a two-headed tortoise, a cage with hundreds of rattlesnakes and lots of little prairie dogs running around. I was only interested in finding the big one. The grand-daddy of the prairie dogs.

Five-legged bull

I kept seeing these critters popping out of the many holes in the ground, but none looked larger than normal, so I marched back inside the small shop where Larry, the owner of this fine establishment, was sitting on an old wooden stool behind the register, and asked, “Where’s the largest prairie dog?” Larry pointed and said , “Right thar.” “Where?” I asked, looking in the direction of his dirty, and way too long, fingernail. “Right thar, behind the snake cages.” Squinting my eyes to pull my focus in, I was excited to know “he” was out there. “You mean over by the big cement prairie dog statue?” I asked. “That’s right. That, there IS the world’s largest prairie dog” Larry said matter of fact. My voice raised to an inappropriate volume for being inside a tiny building as I yelled, “The STATUE? You mean the world’s largest prairie dog is a STATUE? Your signs said you have the world’s largest prairie dog!” Larry said very smugly, “I never said it was LIVE!”

The World’s Largest Prairie Dog

I went out and got my picture taken next to the World’s Largest Prairie Dog and we all loaded back into the car, laughing and totally creeped out by the whole experience. During the next four hours of our drive, I went into my motivational mom mode, telling the family, that in life, you have to take these detours, stopping and experiencing things like the world’s largest prairie dog, or seeing the largest ball of twine, or applying for that job that you feel you are under qualified for, or you will NEVER KNOW. You have to explore and take the scenic routes, or you will stay on the boring highways until it’s too late to take the detours.

The Schrecklet

The Schrecklet and I laughed, recalling the story and then called the waitress over and ordered three Buddha Buttons. They were AWESOME!

What have you done to venture off of life’s highways and see the wonderful detours? I’d love to hear your story!

This trip was to be about celebrating my first half of 100 years, but it turned out to be so much more. I knew I was strong. I knew I was adventurous, but this quest taught me to go beyond what I thought was possible. I learned to push through the bottom and find a reserve that I never knew existed.

People asked me, “Why Kilimanjaro?” Why would I want to make a trek like this for my birthday? As Everest climber, George Mallory said, “One must conquer, achieve, get to the top; one must know the end to be convinced that one can win the end – to know there’s no dream that mustn’t be dared. . .” Mountain climbing is such a perfect analogy for life itself. We struggle and strive upward. We must stop at times to rest or recalculate and then we press on again, upward. That is WHY I chose Kilimanjaro (not to mention Everest was much too cold to even consider).

I began the journey overconfident and perhaps a wee bit unprepared for what I was about to face, after all, I had heard that 9-year-old school children could march up Kilimanjaro in their school uniforms. Sure I wanted a big adventure, but one with comfortable warm beds and someone to bring me coffee each morning. I did get one of the two.

I’ve always believed that an adventure is not worth telling if there is not a dragon or two involved, and this adventure had its share, but before I get ahead of myself, let me introduce the main characters:

Wayne, aka Win, Winner, Weiner, or Papa Weiner. Because our first driver could not pronounce Wayne, he morphed Wayne’s name from Win, and then started calling him Weiner and Papa Weiner, in the van. Fortunately, the name lasted only a day or two. Wayne is a 48-year-old father of four and we soon discovered his family and ours had many parallels. Our kids were close in age, his wife lived in the Bay Area like I did, he lived in Wichita like Kirk and many other similarities made us wonder if this chance meeting in Tanzania was somehow predestined.

Sam, aka Samwell, Perfect hair, and Mountain Climbing Ken. Sam is 17, one day older than our Schrecklet, Bailey, and one of those teenaged boys every parent dreams of having. This trip was what he wanted to do with his dad for his senior year. He will forever be remembered for introducing our team to the McDonalds double with mac sauce combined with a spicy chicken sandwich. He talked about, and I’m sure dreamt about, this sandwich every day on this trip. It is what fueled him up the mountain.

Justin & Bryan were interchangeable and by the second day we all agreed they could be Bill and Ted with their own “most excellent adventure.” 27 and 29-year-old brothers, they had bad travel juju from the get-go. Justin arrived in Kilimanjaro airport after 11 pm the night before we were to start our climb. He was alone in the van with the driver on a very long stretch of road through a sketchy part of Arusha, when they got a flat tire. Bryan arrived in Kilimanjaro airport earlier the same night but Delta had lost one of his bags, and unfortunately, it was the bag with his malaria medicine, warm coat, and supplies needed for summit day. They did finally find the bag but Bryan had to pay an additional $100 to have a porter run it up three days journey to catch up with us. These two must have been placed in front of the television for too long growing up, since they knew every line to every movie targeted to teen boys and the lyrics to most punk or 80s songs. Coming from the northwest coast, these two were not lacking for oxygen…they talked and sang the entire way up.

Kirk, aka Kik or Krik, or Bryan. Kirk’s name seemed to be too difficult to pronounce for most people and therefore he was either called Bryan, since they saw that on his original sign-in documents (his legal first name), or they just didn’t say his name. Kirk was my encourager and walked behind me most of the trip.

Mad Max was our fearless leader and definitely “crazy like a banana” as he said daily. Max had climbed Kilimanjaro over 300 times and we listened to everything he said.

Benson was everyone’s favorite tent butler. He greeted us each morning and before every meal with his deep voice calling, “Hello, your tea is ready”

Domas & Emmanuel, our assistant guides, stepped in to help lead, carry extra water or just help me up or down an extra steep step.

Gaston was the famous toilet engineer, had the nastiest job of taking down, cleaning and setting up the toilet of terror each day, and he always had a big smile on his face and led the team in our welcome song and dance each day. He had the moves.

Douglas, the stomach engineer, cooked the leek soup, flat toast and fried Kili chicken we all looked forward to each day (insert a heavy dose of sarcasm).
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August 4, 2013- Day one: Our Journey Begins

We all did a final equipment check at the hotel before loading into the van. Those of us who rented sleeping bags, poles or other needed items were given those. Wayne opened his sleeping bag and it was a rectangular Scooby Doo sleeping bag. He said it was the kind he used to tell his boy scouts NOT to bring to scout camp, and now here he was with one. We all laughed and the coordinator, Lilian assured us we would stop at “the office” to trade it for a better one. “The office” was a back alley off the main road with two large bushes for a wall and a small red metal door somehow held up between the bushes. Our driver gave the secret knock and a very tiny man wrapped in a colorful shall poked his small face out. The driver and Wayne disappeared behind the door. We weren’t sure if we were ever going to see them again. The best part was the giant gap in the bush that anyone of us could fit through right next to the magic door and yet the tiny man kept peeking his head out as if to keep an eye on us.

After the “Scooby Doo sleeping bag incident” we stopped at the grocery store to pick up water and headed to the registration gate. To fuel us for the climb, we were served dry peanut butter, bread and “Medium Fat Spread” (which was what they called butter, and we learned that it would be served at every meal). The Mac-n-cheese being served to the other climbing team, behind us looked so much better, but we choked it down and began the climb at 1pm.

No need for Rosetta Stone to prepare for this trip, as we discovered we had all learned most of our needed vocabulary from The Lion King movie. Asante Sana means thank you. Hakuna Matata, of course, means no worry. Simba means lion and Mufasa means father. We were practically fluent! Max just liked using the little sayings he picked up along the way, like Easy Peasy Lemon Squeezy, No Way Jose, and Hotta-to-trotta (although I think he thought that meant let’s go).

After 5 hours, 18,200 very steep slow steps (according to the Nike Fuel band), and 5,000 vertical feet, we arrived at our first camp, Machame. Everything was wet and cold. We were in the rainforest, so I guess it was to be expected. Dinner was boiled potatoes, vegetable stew and small chunks of meat. I have never been a camping kind of girl, so the whole experience of sleeping in a tent in the cold and going to a bathroom outside was something I was not looking forward to. I kept reminding myself that there was a whole industry devoted to camping. Stores like Cabelas and Bass Pro Shop were actually tourist attractions, so there must be some enjoyment to be found in this whole outdoor living somewhere. This “Barbie goes camping” panacea was soon shattered when I had to use the blue tent toilet in the dark. The tent around the little plastic potty-training sized toilet was so small, that when I had my headlamp on, I felt like I was part of the Blair Witch Project, and the whole thing just had me creeped out. It was horrifying.

Because it was so cold outside Kirk gave me the tip of filling the small water bladders with hot water and putting them in the sleeping bags for warmth. Ahhh, now I see why everyone loves camping! Lala salaama (good night)

August 5- Day 2: A Kili Cold on the Mountain.

We started early going up the steep and narrow traffic pathway. There are so many people climbing Kilimanjaro that we got into spots where we had to stop and wait as large groups shuffled by. I would guess there were over 300 climbers and then 3 porters are assigned to every person, so there were over a thousand people on the mountain that morning all on the quest to the top of Africa.

Somehow, Mad Max, started calling me Ginny and the other guides were calling me Queen which had a much better sound to it. I think Max saw us sign in last night at the registration and he read Ginny and Bryan. Because of the language barrier, we just went with it.

Steep but slow we made our way to Shira Hut Camp at 12,600 feet. We could see Kilimanjaro in plain sight. It looked even taller from here and summiting was still three days away. I was not feeling good toward the end of the day with a stuffy nose and sneezing. It felt like I was catching a cold. We arrived at camp by 1:30 and I went to sleep for a bit. Kirk brought me some macaroni and questionable fried chicken, which I did not eat. Thank goodness I came loaded with Perky Jerky packs, since this became my main source of protein and the essence of life on some days. I came out around 4 to take pictures, go register at the ranger station with the team, and eat dinner which was mostly rice for me. There was a vegetable stew to pour on top but I had no appetite. Still, the hardest part is going to the bathroom– the toilet of terror still haunted me.

Delicious Perky Jerky

August 6 2013- Day 3: The Miracle of Ginger Tea on the Mountain

We left Shira camp at 8:30 but not before Max and Damos made me drink a nasty cup of Ginger tea to help with my cough and congestion. Everyone stood waiting for me to finish this stinging concoction (I later learned that a spoon full of sugar made this a delight that we all looked forward to each day). I decided today to fill the large water bladder on my back with hot water and then stuff a small bladder of hot water down the front. This was a nice way to fight the chill I had early in the morning. And we were off, trekking up. Max kept saying “Polé polé” which means slowly, slowly. He didn’t have to tell me twice. I think Kirk and the other guys were getting leg cramps just trying to go this slow.

Today wasn’t necessarily a hard climbing day, but it was a bit longer with a little over 8 hours of hiking. We stopped for lunch at Lava Tower which was beautiful but cold. All I could eat was Perky Jerky. When Max was saying something to “Ginny” and I didn’t reply the first time, I finally had to correct him, telling him my name was Gina. He asked “Gina?” With a confused look on his face. He then explained that the word “jina” meant name in Swahili. He then found it very amusing and told all of the porters who were in our group and even some from the other climbing groups. “Jina laco Gina” (my name is Name).

I got a chill that stayed with me the rest of the night. We arrived at Barranec Hut camp at 5pm, got registered and had our snack of popcorn and nuts with tea waiting and of course they brought “more Ginger tea for jina laco Gina.” I don’t know if it was being cold and shivering all day, my back hurting from carrying my pack that was still filled with things I didn’t have the energy to dig out, or not feeling well, but tonight I finally broke. After going to the nasty toilet tent, I crawled into our tent to set up my sleeping bag and just cried. I just wanted a hot bath or shower. I want a toilet where my head didn’t touch the tent door that didn’t zip all the way. I didn’t want to have to stand in the toilet tent and pump the washer spray after using it. I didn’t want to brush my teeth with bottled water. I wanted to be home. This was all too hard.

pretty much sums up my mood today

August 7 2013- Day 4: Inspiration in the shape of a Cross

We were allowed to sleep in until 7:00am on this day, but all of the porters were up early talking and the toilet of terror was calling my name. It was too cold to want to get up and do much of anything, let alone go to the horrifying toilet tent, but I had to go. This morning was the worst. Trying to zip the zipper to the toilet tent I tore part of it and then started gagging just being in there and having an anxiety attack at the same time. The only thing that got me going was the sun had burned through the fog. We would have a beautiful sunny climb today.

The trail ahead looked like a colorful snake of people all filling the trail. I learned that I liked all the traffic since it ensured a nice slow pace for us. Mad Max pointed out a giant wooden cross being carried by a group way up ahead. He didn’t know a whole lot more except it was another Climb Kili group and it was a group of 17 people. Mad Max said today would be an easy peesy 4-hour hike. I don’t know about easy peesy, as it was an incredibly steep boulder wall that involved grabbing hold of rocks to pull yourself up to the next footrest. It was a fun change of pace, but definitely not easy. We were all amazed watching the porters climb this same route while carrying a 50-pound duffle on their head, pots and pans hanging from their front and a crate of eggs and a loaf bread in their free hand. They were incredible!

The Cross on Kilimanjaro

I kept spotting the group carrying the cross ahead of us and it gave me hope. I’m back here whining about my baby backpack hurting my back and they were taking turns carrying a 12-foot wooden cross up this mountain. After all of the wonderful altitude gain, we came over a ridge and started down just as far as we had come up. It was a lot of fine dust that had us all slipping and sliding and a couple of us falling completely, including me, causing my lips, face and even teeth to be coated in dirt. At the bottom was a beautiful river that we learned our water would be coming from tonight. We crossed over and started up, up and up. It was on this uphill that we caught up with the team carrying the cross. Their team was made up of climbers from Texas, Oklahoma, Georgia and one of the coordinators who had just spent a year in Brazil, living with a group of people there. He cut the wood in Brazil and brought it to Tanzania to make it into the cross to be carried by the group that met him there. I was too winded to ask many more questions to really understand what they were doing.

Sleeping in the clouds

We got to our camp and were welcomed by our porters doing their nightly song and dance for us, “Kili Kilimanjaro. Hakuna matata…” I came in blew up the old air pad, set up my sleeping bag and crawled in for a nap, skipping lunch. Dinner was our usual leek soup, bread with fat spread and rice with a vegetable sauce. I ate some rice and went to bed with my hot water bottles.

Aug 8 2013- Day 5: Easy Peesy Day on the Mountain.

It was a steep but steady terrain and because we had to go so slowly, it was my easiest day by far. At this altitude, every step was labored and small. We were heading to Barafu Hut camp where we would prepare for summit night. We left our site around 9am after our breakfast of toast, egg, and hotdog looking meat. The terrain was like the moon or some other planet. Just shards of shale as far as the eye could see. Justin and Bryan’s singing finally got to me. How are they not sucking air? How were they not out of movie quotes or Green Day songs? I needed focus, or peaceful bird and African drum sounds. I plugged in my headset and turned up the volume loud enough to drown them out.

We arrived at Barafu Hut camp by 1pm where there was popcorn and cookies waiting. It started to sleet, small ice pebbles for about 30 minutes and I just went into our empty tent and laid on the mat, wishing I was laying by a pool somewhere warm. Where is the spa? We rested our legs and aching bodies for a few hours and then had our dinner of pasta noodles with a vegetable sauce. Max came in to prepare us for the night ahead. We would sleep for 3 to 4 hours and we would awake at 11 pm to start our midnight summit climb. Here we go!

August 9, 2013- Day 6: Perseverance, Tears and Inspiration

11pm came very quickly considering it was freezing and damp outside. We loaded up our gear and started out at around 12:30am. I had three layers of shirts on with two coats, a balaclava (face and neck warmer) around my face, three pairs of pants, two thick pairs of socks, one pair of gloves under a pair of ski mittens. I also had hand warmers in my gloves, a hot water bottle stuffed down my jacket and warm water in the bladder on my back. The first 20 minutes was very difficult just getting out of the campsite area in the dark. I already started feeling dizzy and overheated. Kirk saw me wobbling and made me stop to shed some of my items already. I got rid of the hot water bottle down my shirt and pulled down the balaclava and tried to regulate my breathing. It was difficult, even at 15,000 feet. We had 4,000 feet to climb. The coolest site was looking up at the mountain and seeing the trail spotted with headlamps. It was beautiful. I couldn’t even think of the fact we had 7 to 8 hours to reach the summit from here. I just kept my eyes on Max’s feet and took one baby step at a time. Polé Polè.

Around 5:30 am Max told us to look to our right. The dawn was breaking. A gorgeous orange color was spreading across the horizon. No sun yet, just the hope of a little warmth to come.
The next stretch was the most difficult. The terrain was completely loose scree, (small rocks and dust) and our steps were just 4 or 5 inches of extreme effort. Sam started experiencing altitude sickness and my body started to physically shut down (or so it seemed). Kirk kept telling me I could do it and to keep walking, but my legs wouldn’t register the words.

The last hour before reaching Stella point (which as far as I can figure, is Swahili for false summit) I was crying the entire way up as tears froze to my face. I think I was crying because I felt bad going o slow, for being a wimp, for living a spoiled life, for hungry children everywhere and just about anything else I could think of to cry about at that moment. Poor Sam threw up four times. There was one point where I stopped because my gloved hands could no longer grip the poles. I was standing there just crying and thinking I physically could not take another step, when a man walked past me, looking right into my teary eyes and just said, “dig deep……dig deeper.” I had nowhere left to dig. I had just hit the bottom of my personal pit. How could he possibly understand… My hand warmer was bunched up.

I was standing trying to adjust my hand warmer but could not fit my fingered gloves back into the mitten. I started to crack. Everything was just too hard and too complicated for my oxygen-deprived brain to figure out at this point. Kirk was trying to help me and I completely fell apart, crying, “it’s just too hard, I can’t even get my hand in here, it’s too hard.” Kirk pushed the glove right on. I’m sure he was trying to figure out why I was crying about my glove not going on right.

When we came up over that ridge, people were celebrating and taking photos of the Stella Point sign. I was confused. It was still another 45 minutes to an hour to the actual summit. There were people who came all this way and they turned to head back down from Stella point. Were they crazy? How could you spend 5 days working toward this goal and quit 45-minutes short of reaching it? How many times in life do we do this? Perhaps you have been prepared for such a time as this. The past 5 days were to prepare us for this moment…we had to press on and finish what we came for.

Our team took 10 minutes and rested as Domas broke out a thermos and 9 cups for Ginger tea, which they believe to be the cure-all for pretty much any ailment. It may be just what I needed to soothe my weary soul and soften the ground to dig a bit deeper. I was able to pull myself together, emotionally and convince my body it could finish this. It was not the “easy peesy lemon squeezy” that Mad Max said it would be, but in about 45 minutes we were all on the peak of Kilimanjaro! The sun was out. The temperature was around 35-40 degrees and we all felt wonderful.

Team Kili Kilimanjaro Summit

The views from atop Kilimanjaro were spectacular. A thick blanket of clouds rested below us and the glaciers up here, although shrinking, were enormous. We snapped lots of photos before Max told us we needed to leave this altitude.

Our next big challenge lied not ahead of us, but below us. I knew what went up, must come down, but we went down and down and down for what felt like an eternity. I was sure we passed a sign that read Hades about an hour into this descent. The loose scree and dust made it impossible to just step down, you had to lean back and just ski-step downhill. The only problem was the big rocks you would hit and stumble upon occasionally. After about an hour of this, my legs were so fatigued that I had to stop and rest. Emmanuel grabbed my hand as if to guide and support me, but it turned out, he was just going to pull me down the mountain, as he helped to prevent me from falling. The scree ended only to be replaced by steep rock fields for another hour or two.

We returned to Barafu Hut campground but just for an hour rest and then we were going down four more excruciating hours. I couldn’t take it. I went into our empty tent and just collapsed on the cold floor thinking of ways to convince them I needed to be airlifted down…all the way to Tahiti. I suddenly heard “Hello, I have some juice for you,” and I lifted my head to see Benson bending down with a cup. I just placed the cup on my stomach and thanked him. He then reached in and peeled off my gators, unlaced my boots and pulled them off for me. Such a simple act of kindness that meant so much at that moment. I sat up and drank the juice.

After about an hour we were saddling back up and heading down some more. Rocks, steps, and scree for what seemed like days. Heading down, we passed several “Kilimanjaro Ambulances” which were basically a heavy metal framed basket with a single wheel underneath, like a very crude wheelbarrow for hauling people down the mountain. It motivated me to keep going. I do think a ride in this thing down these rocks would have every organ in your body rearranged by the time you made it to the bottom. We made it back into the rainforest and had one more cold night in the tents…with the toilet of terror.

Kilimanjaro Ambulance

August 10, 2013- Day 7: Mud, Coca-Colas and African Lounge Singers

The birds are singing, the air was warmer and I was so excited to be getting back to the van that would take us to the land of milk and honey, or at least real toilets and hot showers. I did have to visit the toilet of terror one last time, but when I looked in, it was more than just terrifying, it was horrific. I decided it was time to put my big girl camping pants on and go into the woods behind the trees, like a man! We had our usual porridge and toast to send us on our way and by 7:30 we were on the trail heading down. On our way down, there was a break in the trees and we spotted the mountain through the clouds. It looked like a ghostly vision. Hard to believe we had just come from that peak.

Three hours of muddy, but pretty decent trail, we reached Mweka Camp. I saw vans and heard celebratory singing. We were whisked into a little back patio reserved for “special” groups. There we were offered seats, a chance to get our boots washed (for $2 of courses) and they broke out warm beers and Coca-Colas for everyone.

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A warm coke after a long climbTime to celebrate

We all just really wanted to go to the hotel for a hot shower, but no, there was more. The African version of a Vegas Poolside singer, who reminded us of Bill Murray in shorts and a suit jacket, started strumming his guitar and singing versions of La Bamba and Guantanamera, with Swahili words. It wouldn’t end. 17, 18, 97 songs later, we got up to have a celebration meal of….you guessed it, chicken, rice and vegetables!

The highlight was when Sam broke out the bag of Rolos he had been saving the entire trip to eat at the summit, but with the condition he, and everyone else for that matter, was in, he never opened them at the top. He generously shared his treasure and it was the best taste ever.

We hugged all of our new friends, Douglas, Gaston, Benson, Emmanuel, Domas, goodbye and loaded up into the van with Max to head back to the LS Luxury Resort, which would be just a bit more luxurious on this night. As we were driving back to the hotel we suddenly started losing bags from the roof. At one point a bag came rolling off the top and Sam caught it with his arm out the window. We pulled into a small shop in the nearby town to get some rope or shreds of tire tread as it turned out to be, and get readjusted.

All of us knew our first activity before dinner would be a hot shower, but poor Bryan and Justin’s bad string of travel luck continued and their shower only had cold water. I would have switched rooms before getting in, but they showered and shivered their way through.
Our team met at dinner for one more meal together before heading our separate ways, but something was definitely missing. We missed not having Benson call us together with his, “Hello, your dinner is ready.”

Wayne and Sam were heading home the next day, Bryan and Justin were catching a small flight in the morning to begin their 4 day safari in the Serengeti (I’m picturing their bags falling from the bottom of the small aircraft as they take off), and Kirk and I begin a 3 day safari starting in Terengire with our guide, Frank.

Aug 11, 2013- Terengire: Lions, Giraffes, and Chasing Baboons

Walt Disney was a true visionary, but I wonder if he ever gave thought to how many real life adventures he would ruin because they were simulated so well within the Disney parks. We arrived at Terengire area around 10am and within minutes we saw zebras, baboons, elephants, a lioness resting in the shade, and many more wild animals. Being in the Land Rover, we felt as if we were on a ride within Disney’s Wildlife Adventure Park. Frank was very experienced and spotted animals left and right, or perhaps the Disey ride had set animal markers that we were not seeing.

We ate a boxed lunch at a picnic area where all of the tour groups stop to eat, and there were baboons everywhere, snatching people’s food and running. The guides would throw rocks and chase them away, but within minutes, they’d be back. One came up to a table next to where I was standing and jumped up on grabbing a woman’s lunch and nearly giving her a heart attack. As it was running off with his stolen loot, I tried to chase it and hit it with my water bottle as I hissed loudly (I think it is a primal noise I make when chasing any wild animal, since I have done the same thing to a bear at our back door at home). While lurching toward the thief, I stubbed my toe on a rock and scraped my shin. I guess I should leave the chase scenes to the guides.

The hotel we stayed in this night was called Manara Sarena. It was beautiful and again had a Disneyesque feel to it. The showers were hot and wonderful, the food was a bit more palatable and we had a lovely night there.

Aug 12, 2013- Lake Manyara and Maasai Warrior Tents

Sometimes a day can deceive you. When there seems to be no adventure ahead, just wait.
Lake Manyara was very lush forest terrain which meant it was harder to spot many animals. We found a few herds of elephant, a lone giraffe, lots of zebra and wildebeest and of course plenty of baboons. Just before giving in, we discovered a hippo pool with several hippos lounging in the sun. Lake Manyara is a famous flamingo migration spot, but this time of year we only spotted a few slackers too lazy to fly to Kenya and back. After lunch we decided to head to Ngorongoro Lodge early, And it was a good thing we did.

Hyena and a Sea of Flamingo

Frank said he had never been to this lodge but was pretty sure of how to get there. After an hour of regular roads he turned up a single lane dirt road that started rising in elevation quickly and the dirt “road” became more of a goat trail. After 7 or 8 miles of this tiny got trail, and with no human life forms around, Kirk and I started saying this could not be the place. Frank kept reading from his itinerary and saying Ngorongoro Tent Lodge. I assured him we were not staying in a tent and there was no way there could be a real hotel with running water up this trail. We kept driving. Frank was starting to look concerned until we came to a small gate with a man keeping watch. They exchanged words and the gate was opened. I was praying please let there be a spot to turn around and take us to a real hotel.

Two Maasai men carrying machetes and wearing pieces of tire strapped on their feet, approached our car. Frank said this is it. Where? What was it? The only glimmer of hope was one of the men carried a basket with wet wash clothes and tongs to hand one to us as we reluctantly got out. Kirk said we should go check it out, I wanted assurance there were showers and flushing toilets first. We followed the two men up a dirt road to a thatch roof hut where tables were set for dinner. There was a man behind a bar typing on a computer. A small table in front of him had 7 power strips and what seemed like a hundred tangled cords. The man pointed to the heap and asked if we needed to charge our phones or cameras. What? Who would chance it? I thought I could already smell plastic burning.

We were assured this was the right place, but I wanted to make sure Frank was not going too far away. Kirk and I followed the two Maasai warrior bellhops to our hut. Suddenly it seemed very cool. Encased in mosquito nets, the hut had a queen sized bed, a small fireplace, a shower and toilet and a view from the little porch that was spectacular! My first order of business was to use the toilet and when I lifted the lid, there was a huge spider clinging to the inside of the bowl! Oh my gosh, another toilet of terror.

Kirk and I sat out watching the sunset over this incredible valley and realized this was the perfect spot for our last night in Africa.

Maasai Tent

We were called down to the dinner tent where we would be served a Maasai meal (I had a reserve of Perky Jerky ready and waiting). Of course, I brought my iPad with me to charge at the high-tech charging station while we ate! Our first course was soup followed by rice, vegetable sauce, cold pasta, and chicken. I thought Kirk was going to lose it. We took a few bites, pushed the rest around the plate like an eight-year-old would do to look as if we ate more and headed back to the hut to sleep. Tomorrow we head to Ngorongoro for our last day of safari before heading home.

August 13, 2013- Ngorongoro and Flat Tires

Our guide, Frank told us that Ngorongoro Crater was one of the seven natural wonders of the world (perhaps in the African wikipedia). It is an inactive volcano that has become the habitat to elephants, lions, zebra, rhinos and many other species. We also saw flamingos, several ostriches, and packs of hyenas. The highlight was seeing a lioness in a tree surrounded by a large herd of cape buffalo who were not going to let her come down to attack their young. Suddenly another lioness came out of the bushes and the buffalo all charged her and chased her over to our cars. She managed to dodge the herd but those protective buffalo were not going to let her come back. Frank got word from another guide that two rhinos were spotted down by a lake, so we went on the chase to find them. They were beautiful.

Ostrich Mating Dance

About this time we had to start making our way back to Arusha to grab our bags that were stored and head to the airport. Halfway back we heard the dreaded flapping sound of a flat tire. 30 minutes later we were back on the road. Thanks to Frank’s skilled driving, weaving in and out of rush hour traffic at speeds that made me so nervous, I had to just look away. We made it to Kilimanjaro airport with plenty of time to spare.

SAMSUNG CAMERA PICTURES

I made the mistake of clicking on the email icon on my phone. Hundreds of messages came flooding in, reminding me of all the work that was awaiting me upon our arrival home. How could I possibly catch up after two weeks of not checking email, phone and social media messages? I would have to dig deep!
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https://ginaunplugged.com/2013/08/03/my-digital-compromise/#respondSat, 03 Aug 2013 19:16:52 +0000http://ginaunplugged.wordpress.com/?p=145Continue Reading →]]>When I first decided to embark upon this epic adventure, to climb Mount Kilimanjaro in Africa, everyone was quick to say I would never survive without the use of tech gadgets and the daily checking in on social media sites. I agreed. How could I possibly survive completely unplugged for that long. I mean I had a hard enough time when in Hawaii a few years back, Google released Google plus and by the time I woke up on island time, the news was old and I was on a waiting list to get in. TWO WEEKS? Perhaps I cold train for this.

Should I slowly wean myself from our digital world reading social updates only twice a day, or should I just dive back into the Franklin Covey Day Planner way cold turkey? How would I prepare my team? What if Hootsuite went haywire? What if one my kids posted something cute on Instagram? What if another new social media platform was launched? I realized I had FOMO! Fear Of Missing Out. So I went to the very network of people that I would miss and asked for their tips and advice.

I want to thank everyone who sent me tips and recommendations for survivng two weeks in Digital Detox. Ideas came in via email, this blog, Twitter and on Facebook. Some advice was funny, like Sarah’s idea to create a hat of tinfoil to try and pick up a cell signal and carry on, business as usual, while climbing Kilimanjaro ( I do love the thought of this one). Some tips were practical like Melissa’s tips to bring lithium batteries and Kelly’s to bring a sketchbook to draw the amazing things I would see. My favorite sarcastic suggestion came from Alan, who told me to quickly take a RETRO-writing class to learn to write with a pencil and paper again, which did make me wonder if I would be able to write like that without getting severe hand cramps. Of course I loved the advice that many gave, to unplug, quit fighting it and enjoy the trip. Nothing online would be as interesting as what I would encounter on this expedition. My good friend, Neen, gave me three words that I will work on: RELAX, SAVOR and ENJOY.

My physical training is just about complete and aside from knees that are sore after hours of downhill pounding during our hikes, I do feel strong –both physically and mentally. Last week I wrote and sent two cards and created a grocery list…on paper, so I feel prepared technologically.

I also came to realize that, while I will be unplugging from daily social media checkins, tweets and posts, this is not an Amish adventure. It’s an epic life adventure and those should be well documented! I will not completely unplug from all technology. I am brining my Samsung wifi camera that magically connects with my Samsung Galaxy S4 phone to allow me to get great group shots using the phone as a remote for the camera. I can see what my camera is seeing on my phone screen and click snap from the phone. I will charge these each night with a solar charger that hooks on my backpack collecting sun all day. I also slipped my iPad in my backpack to document the trip. I brought a paper journal and 3 pens but just in case I get cramps, I have a back up.

So thank you to all who shared tips, sarcasm and sage advice. We put everyone’s name into our cool app, Randomizer Lite app (which we love for any contest or just to pick which family member has to do the dishes), and we are thrilled to announce the winner of the MOPHIE JUICE POWERPACK courtesy of Verizon Wireless……

MELISSA TEEARS!!!

Check back here for up update on my lessons from Kilimanjaro and in the mean time, be sure to follow #VZWBuzz and @VerizonWireless on Twitter for more fabulous information and weekly prizes that will keep you tech-savvy and connected!

]]>https://ginaunplugged.com/2013/08/03/my-digital-compromise/feed/020130803-224122.jpgginaunplugged20130803-221909.jpgDigital Detox: Can I Survive Unplugged?https://ginaunplugged.com/2013/06/29/digital-detox-can-i-survive-unplugged/
https://ginaunplugged.com/2013/06/29/digital-detox-can-i-survive-unplugged/#commentsSat, 29 Jun 2013 13:27:09 +0000http://ginaunplugged.wordpress.com/?p=139Continue Reading →]]>So perhaps I’m being a bit dramatic when I say I don’t think I can survive. I mean it’s not like I’m on life support and someone is about to pull the plug or anything. WAIT…that’s EXACTLY what it’s like! I don’t believe my life can be sustained unplugged. I’m like Darth Vader. Too much of my body and brain have already assimilated.

In the past 8 years, I can honestly say that I have not gone 24 complete hours without at least posting a photo to Instagram or replying to a tweet, a text or email somewhere. I am more than just connected. I am hyper-connected. My beautiful Galaxy S4 is never more than an arm’s reach away, and if it were still in style to wear holsters, I would totally have a gun in one holster and my phone in the other! Either one can shoot something I see in a split second and with the Galaxy S4 I can just say CHEESE as the camera is front-facing and it will snap a selfie (you know those goofy pics with your camera at arms reach) of me firing a shot at a tin can! That is one of my favorite features of this phone. (check it out)

I usually have an iPad in my purse…just in case, and I stay in touch with my husband, the Captain, and my four kids via Facebook messages, Instagram pics or comments as well as fun emoji-filled texts every day. I gave up seeking perfect balance years ago when I realized I didn’t want a perfectly balanced life. I wanted to be wildly UNbalanced in whatever area I was focused on at the moment. When my kids were little, I spent my share of afternoons at parks, or gyms with basketball, baseball, and soccer games. When I started my business I traveled a ton, and now I live a 24/7 connected life. Whether on Twitter, Instagram, Google+ Hangouts and any other new app or gadget that we play with to see which one’s make sense for our clients. I love it.

If I am watching television, I have my iPad on my lap. I read or listen to books on my devices, listen to Rosetta Stone teach me Spanish through my LG Bluetooth stereo headset (another of my favorite devices) and use apps for just about everything! I take notes in Evernote, draw and doodle on Paper, pay for parking using Pay By Phone, pay for my Starbucks coffee with My Coffee Card and track my hikes and runs using Map My Walk, just to name a few.

BUT, in a month, the Captain and I will take off for Tanzania, Africa to climb Kilimanjaro. This was MY idea. I imagined climbing the 19, 341 feet and live tweeting the entire trip, or at least snapping pics and posting them to Instagram and Facebook along the way. Of course, I wasn’t thinking that there are no charging stations or cell towers along the route–although that would be a fabulous idea, should the wonderful people at Verizon feel inclined to do that in the next few weeks. 15 days with NO CONNECTIVITY……I’m getting the shakes already!

You know when you lose power in your house and you still get up to make popcorn in the microwave, or you flip the switch up in every room you walk into? That is what I am going through right now. Denial! They can’t possibly have NO connectivity. I mean how do they live? I thought more people had access to mobile devices than to toothbrushes in the world. Okay so perhaps I do need to unplug. Maybe it will be good for me…a type of digital detox. Mobile Rehab! Maybe Lindsay Lohan and I could go together!

So as I continue to prepare physically for the 6-day trek and 14 days of complete disconnectedness, I need your help. I know it’s going to have to be cold turkey, like committing to give up chocolate for two weeks…..Oh God….I can’t do this!

Okay, okay. I need your serious suggestions as to what I need to think through before I unplug and head out. I mean I know my team can handle all of our client interactions and that I need to craft an away message on my email auto-responder, but what else do I need to consider? What can I do to mentally prepare? Are there any tricks to keep a camera battery alive for as long as possible or what tips do you have to learn to write with a pen and paper again? Leave your suggestions in the comments area here.

The wonderful people at Verizon may not be building a cell tower this month in Tanzania, but they did give me a Mophie Juice Pack Powerstation to give away to someone (I obviously cannot use it up there). ( The Mophie Juice Pack Powerstation retails at $79 but staying juiced up and connected is PRICELESS).

Mophie Juice Pack Powerstation (on the bottom right–NOT the iPad!)

To enter, leave a helpful (or witty–I need all the humor I can get right now) comment and be sure to SHARE the post on your favorite social network. Our team will place everyone’s name, who submits an idea here in the comments, into our Randomizer Lite app by Kwixo Designs and it will randomly select a winner on July 15th. That person will win the Mophie and I will get lots of ideas to help me deal with my Digital Detox!